


Bending the Truth

by SandraSmit19



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Fem!ChrisJericho, Fem!CodyRhodes, Fem!DanielBryan, Fem!JeffHardy, Fem!RandyOrton, Fem!SethRollins, Fem!ShawnMichaels, Fem!Undertaker, Gen, Genderbending, Implied Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:43:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1600319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandraSmit19/pseuds/SandraSmit19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of wrestling one-shots with an unusual twist. Or, turning the WWE female, one wrestler at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cady Rhodes

**Author's Note:**

> This right here is going to be an attempt at writing a series of one-shots. Has been done before but I thought I'd go a rather unconventional route and write wrestling gender-benders. 'Wrestling gender-benders' I hear you cry. Yes. Now, I am well aware that not all wrestlers lend themselves to this purpose. I mean, imagine a female Big Show or a female Mark Henry…it doesn't bear thinking about. There are, however, plenty of wrestlers that do lend themselves to it and here I will be presenting you all with those stories. I hope you all enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. One more note before I leave you all be, only one person will be gender-bent at a time. I prefer it that way, don't ask why. Also, there isn't going to be an awful lot of dialogue in these stories. They will mostly be narratives of events that took place.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the brilliant idea to turn these men into women...or was that sick idea?

For Cady Rhodes, men had always been an issue. It wasn't that she couldn't find one. At just under six feet tall, she was tall and statuesque, with long brown hair and light blue eyes. She was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. It was simply that she always seemed to find the wrong one. Her dating history was an epic failure, from a brief relationship with Brian Kendrick just after her debut in 2007 to an only slightly longer relationship with Randy Orton in 2009.

Her relationship with Orton had been violent and harrowing and even now she had moments when she couldn't quite look at the Viper without feeling sick to her stomach. She had gotten through it, and had become stronger because of it, but had nevertheless promised herself that she would never let a man get to her like that again.

She had stuck to that promise without a hitch for nearly three years after her fiasco with Orton ended. She had tagged with Ted Dibiase Jr. some more after Legacy disbanded but he had never been anything more than a friend. She then tagged with Drew McIntyre for a time and, despite McIntyre's best efforts, there was never anything more between them.

Then, in early 2011, Rey Mysterio had severely damaged her face with his exposed knee brace. The damage to her face had required extensive reconstructive surgery and when she had returned, wearing a protective mask, she felt like a monster, a freak. Her looks were shattered and dating was the last thing on her mind.

By the time she had gotten herself back on track, minus the mask and minus the self-esteem issues, she was embroiled in feud after feud and certainly had no time to think of men as anything other than opponents. Her biggest feud during this time was with the Big Show and she wouldn't have dated him if he had been the last living and breathing creature on the planet.

Yes, she had kept her promise to herself quite nicely. Enter the Intellectual Savior of the Unwashed Masses. Damien Sandow was like no man she had ever met before. He was intelligent beyond measure, and Cady had liked the well-spoken man right away. People called him arrogant, but Cady didn't see it that way. He was merely confident in himself and she liked that in a man.

As she got to know the man behind the sneering smirk and sharp, intelligent eyes, she found that he was not nearly as uptight as she had thought. The man had a sense of humor very much like hers and she enjoyed speaking to him immensely. It had not been long before they started traveling together and, after sharing every aspect of their lives for just under a month, they were dating.

As for physically, well, Cady had never been one to become intimate with a man so readily, certainly not after her less than stellar past, but there was something about Damien she simply couldn't resist. And that was that. She had liked him from the start and, as the months went on, she had grown to love him.

Their attempts to become tag team champions hadn't worked out, but Cady had been happy nevertheless. They were together, that was all that mattered to her. Their brief separation as a team after the Royal Rumble 2013 hadn't changed anything between them as a couple and they had reformed Team Rhodes Scholars not long after, so it barely mattered.

And so, despite the fact that their relationship had never really been tested before, Cady had felt confident that they could survive anything. Even a Money in the Bank ladder match. Whichever one of them won, the other would be happy for them. She had believed it with all her heart up until the last moment of the ladder match. She didn't remember everything about that moment, but she remembered enough.

{Flashback}

It was right there, within her grasp. As she reached for the briefcase, she felt a big smile spread across her face. The crowd was cheering and chanting her name but she barely heard them. This was it, the moment she had worked her entire career for, her moment to shine.

Her smile abruptly vacated her face when the ladder she was on wobbled slightly as someone joined her on it and a strong hand on her back sent her off the ladder and crashing to the mat.

As she lay on the mat, unable to move, there was noise all around her, the fans were screaming and she heard the bell ring. Time passed unnoticed as she tried to regain her bearings, her eyes fixed on the high ceiling of the arena. What had happened?

When she had finally managed to sit up, with the help of a trainer, she sat on the mat in a daze, blood running down her face. The ring was empty except for her, the trainer and a still upright ladder. What had happened?

Hardly aware that she was doing it, she turned to the aisle and in the distance, there was Damien. She saw him clutching the Money in the Bank briefcase and finally understood.

It had been Damien. Damien had pushed her off the ladder. Damien had won the briefcase. Damien was smirking.

{Flashback ends}

And that was the thing she hadn't been able to accept. She wasn't mad that he had won the match the way he did. She too had wanted that briefcase more than she had wanted her next breath. She understood his actions. What she hadn't been able to and still couldn't understand was what came after the match.

She was sitting on the mat in a steadily growing pool of her own blood and all there was on the face of the man who called himself her soulmate was a smirk. No concern for the fact that she was bleeding. No concern over the fact that he threw her headfirst off a ladder and that she could have broken her neck. Nothing. Just that same smirk.

She understood why he did what he did. But to be smug about it? To basically laugh in her face about it? From a man who had professed his love for her, from a man who claimed he didn't want to live without her, she found that a little hard to take. In fact, she found it impossible to take. Their relationship hadn't lasted long, it had been nine months altogether. For Cady it was the longest relationship she had ever had, but perhaps that said more about her than it did about the relationship.

And yet, Cady's feelings for Damien Sandow had been real and she had thought he felt the same way. It didn't matter how long the relationship had lasted, it still felt like she had been gutted. She had let him into her life, her heart, her bed, and he walked away without a second thought.

She arrived the next night on Raw unsure of what she was going to do. She wanted to talk to him certainly but she had no idea what she was gonna say to him. She had no idea what he was going to say, if he would even deem her worthy of talking to. That thought made her wince.

Her answer as to what she was going to do came when Damien went to the ring and spoke to the masses he claimed to be the savior of. He stood in the middle of the ring, telling the world he was the Money in the Bank winner – and that much was true – and that his actions at the pay-per-view hadn't been personal – and that much wasn't. It was personal, it was extremely personal.

She had attacked him that night, after his match against Christian. She had lost control of her emotions and she had done the only thing she could think to do, she had physically attacked the man she still loved. Her only thought during this attack was to make him feel a fraction of her pain, just one ounce of her anguish, even if his pain would merely be physical. He had escaped her wrath after several referees had intervened and she had felt no better when it was all over.

Several days later, on Smackdown, Damien had called Cady out to the ring. She had joined him in the ring, her face carefully neutral as she looked at her now ex-boyfriend. But even as she told herself not to believe a word he was about to say, his soulful brown eyes were already melting her shield of ice.

He told her that he hadn't betrayed her and that they were still soulmates. He told her how much he loved her and how bad he felt that it had come to this. And though Cady had never been one to fall for flowery language, she felt her resolve weaken.

What if he was telling her the truth? What if it had all been just a big misunderstanding? Was she throwing away the best relationship she had ever had over nothing?

Her moment of weakness was cracked when she heard him say he forgave her for attacking him on Raw and then completely shattered when he told her he would 'honor' her by making her 'protector' of his briefcase until he chose to cash it in.

Feeling as though someone had doused her with a bucket of cold water, Cady struggled to rein in her temper, forcing an astonishingly believable smile onto her face. She accepted the briefcase with numb fingers, thanking him for such an honor before she paused, looking down at the briefcase in her hands for a long moment.

"And you know," she finally said, before she looked up and into his eyes. "I love you too."

Slamming the briefcase into Damien's head had done what attacking him on Raw hadn't. It made her feel better. Tossing the briefcase into the aisle and seeing it bounce off the ramp had been a very sweet moment too and combined the two moments made her smile genuinely for the first time since crashing off that ladder.

After Damien had regained his composure and had retrieved his briefcase from the aisle, she had heard him call up to her 'This isn't over, Cady, **we** aren't over'. And he was half right. It **wasn't** over.

He fancied himself the smartest man on Earth but Cady would show him that he had an awful lot left to learn. One of the many lessons he still needed to learn was that the saying 'Hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned' was very true. She didn't want his briefcase. She hadn't won it at the pay-per-view and she didn't now want it. All she wanted was payback, and at SummerSlam, she would get just that.

And Damien Sandow could take **that** to the bank.


	2. Danielle Bryan Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was supposed to be chapter 6 of my one-shots but for some reason Daniel Bryan decided to cut in line and demand attention, so here it is, my genderbent Daniel Bryan, except it's not from 'her' point-of-view. I thought I'd try something different. Let me know if it worked out.
> 
> Warning: Implied violence, and some of it is quite inventive but it's only implied.

"Triple H is obsessed with Danielle Bryan."

The words should have meant nothing. Just another pointless comment coming from a pointless commentator who got paid way too much for doing way too little.

And yet, the words had somehow gotten stuck in his brain, niggling and bothering him. It got even worse when he found out that Stephanie – his beautiful wife of more than ten years – agreed with Michael Cole. He had been indignant, insulted and more than a little angry, and had questioned her as to how she could think such a thing.

(Flashback)

"Hunter, it's obvious to anyone who has eyes," Stephanie said to her husband as he scowled down at her. She put her hands up in a soothing manner as she continued, "Now, unlike some people, I'm not suggesting you feel any kind of attraction toward her. I'd be furious if I thought that for a second and really, why would you? But it seems like ever since this whole thing started, she's all you think about."

"That's not true," Hunter said, shaking his head.

"Have you heard yourself talk lately?" Stephanie asked him. "Every other word is about her. You're obsessed, Hunter. You're obsessed with getting rid of her, with destroying her. Now, I'm just as eager to get rid of her as you are, but baby, you're not even sleeping anymore. You're not eating right anymore. This has to stop."

(Flashback ends)

He had continued to argue against her words, had continued to insist she had it all wrong. Because she **was** wrong. He wasn't obsessed with Danielle Bryan or anything to do with her.

It was true that he spent large portions of his time thinking of new ways to get rid of her and thinking up new and creative ways to hurt her. And it was true that the thought of her never truly left him anymore, even as he went about his business as not only the COO of the company, but also as a husband and as a father. He had been at a playground with his girls not long ago and he found himself looking at the monkey bars and wondering just how much damage he could do to Danielle Bryan if he dropped her head-first off them. Just a few days earlier, his youngest daughter had been playing with a doll that had an obscene amount of curls - just like Danielle Bryan - and he had to fight down the irrational urge to stomp it into the carpet. Then there was the time he had been on the verge of making love to Stephanie…but he quickly quashed that thought, not wanting to think about that.

But he was not obsessed. If there was any obsession to be found in the Cerebral Assassin, it lay with doing what was best for business. He loved the WWE and the wrestling business as a whole and he would always do whatever he had to to do right by it. If that meant getting rid of a B+ wrestler, who really had no business wrestling men anyway, then so be it.

And if he was having a lot of disturbingly violent dreams as of late, all of them centering around a diminutive, honey-blonde woman, who seemed to have made it her mission in life to thwart and infuriate him, then all that proved was just how dedicated he was to his new task – getting rid of Danielle Bryan.

So what if he fantasized about taking that massive amount of hair of hers and ripping it out, one curl at a time? And so what if looking into those large blue eyes made him want to scoop them out with his bare fingers and crush them into pulp? It didn't mean anything and it was nobody's business anyway.

He **wasn't** obsessed.

He **didn't** need time off.

And he for damn sure didn't need Randy Orton and Dave Batista to take care of her for him.

Only one person was going to take out Danielle Bryan and it wasn't the Viper, or the Animal. No. Only Triple H was going to do that.

He hadn't managed it at WrestleMania, and the bitch had gone on to become the first ever female World Champion. An absolute travesty and an insult to the title and Triple H was positive she had cheated somehow, though he had been unable to figure out exactly how, even after watching the match so many times he could now see it in his head, move for move.

He had tried again the next night and failed again – and screw the Shield anyway.

But he would get it done. Leaving the belt in her hands was unthinkable and though the board had nixed the idea of stripping her of the title, he would find another way. He relished the thought of taking the title from her himself. Beating her to within an inch of her life, pinning her for the victory and then standing over her, holding his title up high, was a prized fantasy of his and he would make it a reality.

He just needed to bide his time.


	3. Danielle Bryan Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a little one-shot to accompany the last one. Just a look at Danielle Bryan’s thoughts concerning her…issues with Triple H.

Danielle Bryan had no idea what Triple H’s problem with her was.

She knew what the Authority’s problem with her was. It had been explained to her many times, by both Triple H and his wife, Stephanie McMahon.

She wasn’t what they wanted as the face of the WWE. She certainly wasn't what they wanted as the WWE World Heavyweight Champion. She was small, she was outspoken and opinionated, she lived an alternative life style but most importantly, she was a woman. They called her a B+ wrestler and then acted like she should be flattered they thought even that much of her.

They had tried to mold her, turn her into what they felt she should be. They had put her in a dress and high heels, had attempted to 'tame' her hair and had eventually tried to cut it all off. She had rebelled, thrown it into their faces. It wasn't her, it would never be her. That had pissed them off even more.

Yes, she knew very well why the Authority didn’t like her.

What she didn’t get was what Triple H’s problem with her was, as in the personal problem he seemed to have with her.

He had started out the same way Stephanie had, talking down on her, belitting her, telling her she wasn’t good enough and all the rest of it. But along the way, his behavior towards her changed. He became angrier and although initially this only led to verbal confrontations, eventually it became physical.

The first few of these physical altercations led to them having the match at WrestleMania 30, where she would have to defeat him to get a shot at the WWE World Heavyweight title, something she had been waiting for since her career had begun. Something even she hadn’t truly believed would ever happen.

Though he claimed he had underestimated her and had lost the match because of it, she knew he had thrown everything he had into that match. She knew it because she could feel it. He brutalized her during the match, and after it for that matter, and he had held nothing back.

Then during her triple threat match against Batista and Randy Orton, the COO had interfered again, again brutalizing her.

After she won the WWE World Heavyweight title – and part of her was still in disbelief that it had actually happened – Triple H had been quick to make another match between them for the Raw after WrestleMania. The match never actually started but the beating she had received had been more brutal than anything that took place before that and the Cerebral Assassin had managed to do a significant amount of damage before the Shield had turned up.

After that match, the attacks from Triple H only got worse. More than once he had come to the ring during one of her matches and simply attacked her, without ever saying a word. He would not just lay her out, he would wail on her and stomp her even after he had taken her down. And he seemed to have developed an obsession with her hair, taking every opportunity he could to pull at it, sometimes hard enough to pull whole locks of it out.

His attitude towards her had started out as merely condescending but along the way it had become hateful and she had no idea why.

Ultimately though it didn’t matter why. Danielle had no personal problem with the man but if it was a fight he wanted, that was what she would give him.

She hadn’t backed down from the Miz during her rookie days.

She hadn’t backed down from Kane during their tag team days.

She hadn’t backed down from the Shield even when it was three-on-one, and it usually was.

She hadn’t backed down from Bray Wyatt and his demented family when they had set their sights on her.

And she wasn’t about to back down from Triple H. He could call himself the Game, the King of Kings or the Cerebral Assassin. It didn’t matter. If he was in her way, she would take him down.


	4. Sara Rollins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was supposed to be chapter 11 but it’s funny how some of these just push ahead of all the others. Oh well, I went with it and here it is.

The Shield was a unit.

It had been that way since the day they had made their first appearance in the WWE. Together, they were all but unstoppable and – apart from some minor glitches – they had been dominant since day one. They strove to eradicate injustice and if their interpretation of injustice wasn’t quite the same as that of other people… so be it.

They were the Shield. They were the most dominant force the WWE, or indeed any wrestling company, had ever seen. They would thrive no matter what was thrown at them. They were unstoppable. They were at the top of the company and they planned to stay there.

Sometimes, however, things don’t go quite according to plan.

Enter the Wyatt family.

The Wyatt Family didn’t intimidate the three members of the Shield. They didn’t buy into Bray Wyatt’s mindgames, nor would they be his puppets. Nor were the Wyatt family members a problem on a physical level. There was a reason the Shield had been so dominant and that reason had to do with how well they fit together. Power. Speed. Agility. Technical skills. They had it all. No threesome of brawlers would ever get the better of the Shield in the ring. As for ring psychology…

Dean Ambrose was their ring psychologist and he was damned good at it. He saw through each and every one of Bray Wyatt’s tricks and kept Sara and Roman grounded when the things Wyatt was saying would have them freaking out.

Because it had to be said. Bray Wyatt was good at what he did. He got into people’s heads and he got into Roman’s with just seven words.

“You watch that little lady of yours.”

Sara had tried everything she could think of to get her boyfriend to relax.

She told him Bray Wyatt was full of it. Didn’t help.

She told him Wyatt had only said what he said because he knew it would get to the big Samoan. Didn’t help.

She told him she could take of herself. He gave her a doubtful look that pissed her off so bad they wound up having a screaming fight and some heavy duty angry sex, which was great but also didn’t help.

In the end, she knew there was nothing she could do or say to change the way her boyfriend was taking Bray Wyatt’s words. He stuck to her side like glue and, though the sentiment was sweet, it was still pissing her off. She had proven herself in her time with the Shield, his insistence on being her shadow was insulting.

She ended up changing her opinion not long after Bray Wyatt had spoken those seven words when the Wyatt family ambushed the Shield members on Raw. By the time she did so, however, it was too late.

She had been separated from Roman and Dean in the chaos and one big boot from Erick Rowan later, she was slung over Luke Harper’s shoulder and whisked away from the ring while the lights were off. Through the buzzing that was currently going on in her head, she vaguely heard her boyfriend cursing, demanding the lights be turned back on and then they were gone, away from the ring and into the hallways of the arena.

Sara was unable to keep track of where they were going. Though her head was clearing as she hung there, the twists and turns happened too fast for her to tell how many times they turned one way or the other. When Harper finally put her down, she had no idea where they were, other than that the place was dark and cold and probably a utility room of some sort, maybe even the basement of the arena.

Resolving not to go down without a fight, Sara waited for Harper to release her and went straight for his throat. The problem was Harper was a big man and her head was still fuzzy. An even bigger problem was it wasn’t a one-on-one fight and she quickly found herself outnumbered.

The only female member of the Shield was no push-over. Her skills lay primarily with high-flying, her speed and agility making her lethal in the ring, but when it came down to a brawl and there was no other way, she could put up one hell of a fight.

The outcome of her fight against the Wyatt family, however, was a foregone conclusion. There was just no way she would ever be able to fight off all three men.

A knee to the back from Harper had her down on her knees and an elbow to the face from Rowan sent her careening back into the wall, taking most of the fight out of her. When the beating stopped, she was pulled off the ground and held in front of Wyatt by Harper and Rowan. She struggled uselessly, having no chance of budging the two big men.

Wyatt, meanwhile, stepped closer, his bearded face split into a huge grin, his unnerving blue eyes intense.

“Such a beautiful young woman,” he whispered as he ran his fingers through the Latina’s two-toned hair.

She jerked her head away from him but all it did was make him grin wider still.

“What do you want?” Sara spat at him.

“Why,” Wyatt said, his face deceptively benign. “What do you think I want? What do you think I’ve been aiming for since the first time my family came face to face with you and your two pups?”

“Roman and Dean will find me,” Sara promised, barely listening to him but latching onto the mention of her fellow Shield members. “They’ll find me, and they’ll destroy you.”

“Roman and Dean don’t know where you are,” Wyatt retorted, his voice mockingly gentle. “Nor will they find out. At least, not in time they won’t.”

“Fuck you,” Sara spat as she continued to struggle against Rowan and Harper.

The grin on Wyatt’s face grew bigger still and he chuckled before he spread his arms and said, “So you do know what I want.”

Sara’s struggles stilled as she processed those words before she realized what he had said, what he had meant. Her struggles renewed and Wyatt laughed again.

“There, there, little girl,” Wyatt crooned as he ran his fingers through her hair again, this time fisting his hand in her hair and yanking her head back. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you…much.”

Wyatt laughed again as Sara swallowed hard, finally grasping just how bad her situation was. Harper chuckled and as his laughter joined Wyatt’s, the room suddenly got darker, as though someone was dimming what little light there was. She didn’t realize she was passing out until two big hands came down on her shoulders and shook her roughly, sending her head backwards and forwards hard enough to crack her neck and bringing her awareness back just enough to see Wyatt’s face right in front of hers.

“Stay with me, little one,” Wyatt said, his grin still in full force. “The night is far from over.”

The words barely registered, her mind still foggy, but the hands that ran over her chest before undoing her belt buckle and pulling at her cargo pants were like a bucket of cold water, and had the same effect. She knew what he meant to do, and suddenly – finally – realized that he wasn’t just saying it to scare her. He intended to violate her, right there in that dark hole, and if she didn’t do something, he would.

Her near passing out had apparently convinced Harper and Rowan that she was no longer a flight risk and had served to loosen their hands on her. This – and only this – allowed her to lunge forward and headbutt Wyatt, sending him stumbling back. She managed to elbow Harper in the balls and when Rowan grabbed hold of her and pulled her clear off the ground, she gouged him in the eye, prompting him to let go.

It was Wyatt himself who put an end to her escape attempt, his fist connecting first with her ribs and then with her left jawbone, sending her crashing back to the ground. Harper was on her in seconds and by the time Wyatt called him off, she was covered in so much blood she couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from.

Then the hands of Harper and Rowan were on her again and this time they held her so tightly she could feel the bruises forming even as they held her.

“Now,” Wyatt said. “No more of that, hm?” The condescending tone, like she was a toddler who had been naughty, was like a knife to her heart but she had nothing to respond with, no fight left in her.

Her eyes closed, resignation seeping into her as Wyatt’s hands returned to her clothing.

And then there was chaos. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from or who was causing it but suddenly the room was filled with noise and the hands holding her released her. She fell to the ground and lay there for a long moment, face down and unable to move, the noise of what she now recognized as a fight still around her.

When the noise of the fight died down, and the chaos dissipated, frantic feet made their way to her.

“Sara, Sara,” she heard a familiar voice call.

Hands were on her and they were moving her, rolling her over. The pain made her mewl and she heard another, equally familiar, voice swear.

“Fuck, she’s bleeding all over.”

She could feel strong arms around her and hands were gently cradling her head.

“Baby, can you hear me?” the first voice she had heard was saying. Roman, she realized. It was Roman, but why did he sound so scared?

“Holy shit,” a third voice, from further away, said. She didn’t recognize it.

“What the fuck are you standing there for?” the other familiar voice said and she finally recognized it as Dean’s. “Get some help.”

Footsteps moved away from them but the arms remained around her. Blackness was invading her vision and she knew she was passing out. The panicked voices of her boyfriend and friend insisted she stay awake but she couldn’t and that was okay. She was safe. They had found her and she was safe.

*********************

Waking up was a surreal experience.

The first thing Sara Rollins became aware of was pain, not as much pain as she had felt before and it was numbed somehow, distant almost, but it was there and she winced when she tried to move. The second thing she became aware of was the feeling of a bed beneath her and blankets over her.

She laboriously opened one eye, squeezing it shut again when the brightness of the room sent a stab of pain through her head.

After a moment, she opened both her eyes, squinting and blinking until her eyes got used to the light, and saw that she was in a hospital room. She thought hard for a moment, trying to remember what had happened and her eyes widened when she did. The Wyatt Family. They had fought them and she had gotten separated from the other two Shield members, and then… 

The door opening interrupted her thoughts and she watched as Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns walked in, obviously trying to be quiet which was no easy feat for two men who generally had one speed and one noise level, both called ‘Bull in china shop’. Then Roman saw that she was awake.

It took the big Samoan all of two seconds to get from the door to the side of the bed where Sara gratefully and with a sob she tried to choke back melted into his arms.

“Are you alright?” Roman asked, his big arms wrapped around her.

She nodded against his shoulder, not willing to let him go for even a second. And by how tight Roman was holding her, he didn’t much feel like letting her go either. It made her grateful that she was obviously under the influence of painkillers.

“Are you?” Dean demanded from where he stood nearby, his eyes fixed on her face.

Sara met her friend’s blue eyes over Roman’s shoulder, saw the concern in the face of a man many thought was crazy. He wasn’t crazy. He was intense and unpredictable, yes, but not crazy.

“What did they do?” Dean continued, his body tense as he waited for her answer.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she answered instantly.

And it was true, the beating had been nothing she couldn’t handle. As for the rest of it… she would never tell her fellow hounds about that. She had no idea what her boyfriend and friend would do if they knew but knew it would be bad. In the end, Wyatt hadn’t gotten what he wanted so there was no point in opening that can of worms. Roman’s next words, however, proved that she wouldn’t need to say anything.

“Your pants were open.” His voice was tight and the fury in his voice would have been terrifying if she hadn’t known he would never hurt her.

Sara finally pulled back a little bit and Roman let her, though he seemed reluctant. She looked into the grey eyes of the man she loved and knew playing dumb wouldn’t fly. They knew, of course they did. How could she have thought they’d overlook something like her belt being unbuckled and her pants being open?

“That fucker tried to rape you, didn’t he?” Dean cut in before she could say anything, the fury in his voice as clear and audible as Roman’s had been.

“He didn’t though,” Sara said, keeping her voice steady. “You stopped him.”

Dean wasn’t listening, as he often didn’t when he was beyond pissed off. He was now pacing the room, muttering to himself.

“Dean,” Sara called softly, but the man kept pacing. “Dean,” she said again, this time louder.

Dean whirled around from where he had been facing the opposite wall and his eyes landed on hers. She reached out a hand to him and he immediately went to her, grasping her hand tightly.

“I’m okay,” she said to both of them, continuing over their protests, “Whatever Wyatt meant to do, he failed and he will never be able to try again.”

“Damn right he won’t, I’ll kill him first,” Dean muttered, his grip on her hand tightening for a moment and Roman nodded at her other side.

“Good,” was all Sara said. “Now can I please have a hug from my boys?”

And then they were both holding her and Sara closed her eyes, relishing the safety of their arms.

Wyatt would pay for what he had done, and he would pay dearly. The Shield would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite this one coming quite unexpectedly, at chapter 4 instead of chapter 11, I’m quite happy with it. I realize this is all from Rollins’ point of view and none of Ambrose and Reigns’ feelings are discussed. There’s a chance I’ll get to that in the future, I certainly wouldn’t mind writing more on Sara, but I’ll have to see how it goes.  
> And just so everybody knows, Sara Rollins does NOT betray her fellow Shield members. Only Seth Rollins would do a thing like that. Men! You can’t trust ‘em, can you? :P


	5. Christina Jericho

Anyone who entered the large, mostly empty lockerroom at that point would have been struck by the sight of the woman currently in there. Her long blonde hair unbound, her light blue eyes on fire, her movements angry and jerky as she flung her things into her bag. They wouldn’t have dared approach her, even without knowing what had caused the anger in her.

 

She didn’t arrange, didn’t fold, didn’t care. Simply dumped her belongings into her bag, wanting to be out of there as quickly as possible. Her movements stopped abruptly when she caught sight of something sticking out of one of the side pockets of her bag. She pulled it out.

 

It was a picture of them, taken several months before. An intimate embrace, their faces turned toward eachother, their eyes happy and their smiles bright. It had been taking on the sly by one of the guys and a copy of the picture had been in her bag ever since. She felt a burning sensation behind her eyes and knew she was about to cry, but she forced the tears back and thought back on how it all began.

 

Their relationship had started off quite badly.

 

She had interrupted one of his rather lengthy in-ring spiels, this one about the Big Show.

 

He had reacted to her interruption with mockery and ridicule, as expected.

 

She had found him aggravating from the first and, after a few well-placed comments on her part, he had thought the same of her. Also expected.

 

What she hadn’t expected was to find him so unbelievably and undeniably attractive. She had known he was a physically appealing man, of course, but she had been around enough physically appealing men in WCW not to be affected. Or so she had thought.

 

It had been her first night, her debut, and she had been excited. After the misery that had been WCW – and if she ever saw Kevin Nash again she would show him what this ‘piece of ass’ could do – she was fully intent on making an impact in the WWF. A new company, a new start.

 

But as she stood on the ramp, trading banter with the Brahma Bull, she was stunned to find that the simple raising of that irritating eyebrow made her stomach feel…funny. She was too old for crushes so she knew it had to be simple physical attraction but it had never hit her that hard before.

 

She had ignored it for some time after this, sidetracked by more important things. She had gone on to become only the second female Intercontinental champion of all time, Chyna being the first – and how her blood still boiled at the thought of **that** woman – and had her hands full with men who thought they were better than she was, simply because she was a woman. Kurt Angle, Triple H and Chris Benoit just to name a few.

 

She had in fact mostly forgotten about the Rock until the WCW and ECW invaded the company and the Rock returned in July of 2001. The threat posed by the rivaling companies, headed by the two ingrate children of Vince and Linda McMahon, forced them into close proximity of eachother.

 

The two of them instantly went back to trading banter and, more often than not, insults, but there was something more this time around. Her attraction for the man was still there but this time around she sensed she wasn’t the only one interested in pursuing a physical relationship. They soon became – for lack of a better term – friends with benefits.

 

Over the months that followed they had steadily become more than that, actually spending time together and eventually traveling together as well. In wrestling they also became a team, becoming tag team partners and winning the tag team titles. Everything had been going great.

 

Until they stopped going great.

 

They had started arguing, first about little things. What hotels they stayed at, what places they ate at.

 

Then about more important things. He didn’t like her spending time with Jeff Hardy, she didn’t like the way women fawned over him and he allowed it. They would argue, loudly and elaborately, then they would make up. But each time they made up, there was a little more strain in their relationship, a little more tension.

 

Then they started losing matches. Disqualifications. Count-outs. And the strain grew.

 

The final straw had come the very night Christina found herself gazing at the picture in the empty lockerroom. They had lost their tag team titles to Test and Booker T, of all people. She had accidentally hit the Rock with a missile dropkick. It was a mistake, she was willing to admit that, but it shouldn’t have been a problem. Except Rocky made it a problem. He hit her with the Rock Bottom after the match and, after she had recovered sufficiently from the move, she had stormed backstage to confront him.

 

“What the Hell was that?” were the first words out of her mouth when she found him in his lockerroom.

 

“I got pinned, Chris,” Rock answered. “You hit me with the damn dropkick and I…”

 

“I’m not talking about the match, Rocky,” Christina cut in. “I’m not talking about the titles. I’m talking about you giving me a Rock Bottom after the match.” Her voice cracked. “What was that?”

 

As he turned away, she heard him say something and she wasn’t sure if he meant for her to hear. She didn’t hear and asked him to repeat himself.

 

He turned to her, hands on his hips, a frown on his face. “I said ‘That was your own fault’.”

 

“My own fault?” she repeated in disbelief. “How was it my own fault?”

 

“You’re the one who hit me,” he pointed out.

 

“That was an accident,” Christina protested.

 

“Was it?” he asked.

 

And that shut her up. For a few seconds she was shocked that he would think that, before she repeated his words to herself. Was it? Was it really an accident? He’d been hurting her feelings for some time. Did some part of her want to return the favor? Make him feel some of that pain? She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she only just caught his next words.

 

“Hey, you hit me with the dropkick. I hit you with the Rock Bottom. Now we’re even.”

 

She stared at him for a long moment, wondering who this man was. Where had the man she had fallen for gone? The man who worried about her when she had a match. The man who didn’t Rockbottom her when she made a mistake.

 

“No, we’re not,” she finally managed to say. “We’re not even. Rocky…I made a mistake, you purposely hurt me.”

 

And he laughed. He actually laughed. “This isn’t cradle school, Christina,” he said. “You wanna be in the WWF, you’re gonna get hurt from time to time. Deal with it.”

 

Christina’s shoulder’s slumped at those words, her whole body sagging with fatigue. She was so tired of this.

 

“Right, whatever, Rocky,” she said. “This is just you not wanting to admit that you’re wrong. As usual.”

 

She turned towards the door, intent on leaving before she said anything else. They’d said enough.

 

But the Rock had never been good at letting somebody else have the last word and he apparently couldn’t resist throwing in one more barb.

 

“If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen, Chris. Or better yet, get back into the kitchen. Leave the wrestling to the men.”

 

And that had done it. She had turned and lunged at him, taking him by surprise if his expression was anything to go by, and the situation had gone straight to Hell. The noise of their fight drew the attention of officials and other wrestlers and they were quick to separate them. She pulled away from Jeff Hardy and Bradshaw and stormed out of the room, not wanting to be near the fucker she loved – no, had loved – anymore.

 

She knew now that her love for him had been entirely one-sided. The Rock was capable of loving only one person and that was himself. She felt like a fool for not seeing it before.

 

Well, he could go to Hell. Him and his third person bull-shit. Had she ever found that charming? She couldn’t imagine it now.

 

She was through with the Rock, she was through with his lies, and she was through pretending to be content with what she had. She deserved more, she deserved better and she would have it.

 

She tore up the picture and left the pieces on the lockerroom floor. Then she shouldered her bag and exited the room. She ignored the wrestlers milling around as she walked through the hallway on her way to the parking lot, ignored what she knew they were saying behind her back, what they were thinking in their ignorant little minds.

 

That he was a better performer. That he was a better athlete. That she was just a little woman. They were wrong.

 

Christina Jericho came second to no man, not even the man she loved.


	6. Jess Hardy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell I’m not overly fond of excessive dialogue, or indeed any dialogue at all. I prefer to let the story do the telling, or at least, that’s the method I’ve been favoring in these one-shots. This means it may sometimes take you a little while to figure out what’s going on. It’s something of an acquired taste, I hope it’s to your liking all the same.

She was never quite sure when it started, not really.

She knew it wasn’t during her first two years in the WWF. When she and Matt made their debuts in 1999 as the Hardy’s, the Undertaker had been running his Ministry and dabbling in the occult. Then he disappeared and when he returned, he did so a changed man. The darkness was still palpable in the man from the dark side but everything else had changed. The way he walked, the way he talked, the way he dressed, even the way he wrestled.

Looking back, she supposed it started in 2001.

Triple H and Stone Cold Steve Austin had attacked Team Extreme for reasons that still weren’t entirely clear to Jess, beating them down and then attacking them with chairs. Jess remembered being laid out on the mat in the center of the ring, having just been stunnered by Austin. Her head was spinning and she couldn’t move, and she could see a grinning Helmsley standing over her about to bring a steel chair down on her. Suddenly the crowd started cheering and she heard Austin swear loudly. There was a scuffle and then their assailants were gone, replaced by two even bigger men.

Jess remembered being pulled to her feet and finding herself face to chest with the Undertaker. He ran a quick hand over her rainbow-colored hair, gruffly asking ‘You alright, kid?’. She had managed a nod and ‘Taker and his brother, Kane, had left, leaving Jess to pick up her brother and his girlfriend.

She had thought nothing of it at the time. Looking back put it in perspective.

He had only helped **her** to her feet, not Matt, not Lita. He in fact never even looked at either of them. Then there was him touching her hair… He didn’t ruffle it, he just touched it. Perhaps it only seemed suspicious in light of what happened later but she couldn’t help but feel there was something off even then.

Then the Alliance had come along, forcing everyone in the WWF to work together. Team Extreme found themselves working with people they never thought they’d work with. Like Trish Stratus, which was awkward in the beginning as Lita still wanted to rip her head off for putting her hands on Matt. And Edge. Jess still resented the blond man for kissing her halfway through a match a year prior. He claimed he had only done it to distract her – it worked, they lost the match – but Jess distinctly remembered feeling tongue.

The Brothers of Destruction were also among those the Hardy’s allied with, in several instances tagging with them. Prior to these eight-man tag matches, the two teams would meet backstage to discuss match strategy. During these meetings there would be little things. A hand on her shoulder or the small of her back. On several occasions, the Phenom would put an elbow on her shoulder and lean on her.

Again, she had thought nothing of it. During one of these meetings, ‘Taker’s wife, Sara, had been with them and ‘Taker had leaned on her anyway. Sara didn’t seem to care. During one of their matches, he had been stepping past her and he had placed both of his hands on Jess’ hips while doing so. After the match, Sara hadn’t said a word about it nor had she seemed angry.

It didn’t register because in Jess’ mind it **couldn’t** mean anything. Not with his wife there to see, not with thousands of people in attendance and millions of people watching at home.

Matt had been worried about it and Lita had expressed concern as well but Jess had told them both to relax, that it was nothing. Now she felt like a fool for not listening, not seeing. The warning signs had all been there, clear as day.

This had continued for most of 2001, with no alarmbells ringing on Jess’ part whatsoever, which hardly seemed possible later on since she couldn’t so much as hear his name mentioned without going into full-on defensive mode.

It wasn’t until the end of 2001 that Jess actually started worrying. ‘Taker’s mood seemed to change, taking a turn for the worst if his assault on Jim Ross was anything to go by. He started showing up for her matches. It started out with him simply watching, but during the fourth or fifth match, he got involved.

He had blatantly knocked down her opponent, Lance Storm, and had gotten her disqualified. She had been confused at the time, not yet connecting the dots but she had known his presence wasn’t a sign of good things to come. She was right.

He would continue to turn up for most of her matches, sometimes causing her to be disqualified, sometimes getting her opponent disqualified. The latter was usually done by tripping her, though one time he shoved her off the top rope – and wasn’t that hand on her backside while he did so something to think about?

More than once he caused her to be counted out, simply by blocking her from the ring, his sheer bulk more than enough to get it done.

All the while this was going on, he paid no attention to her questioning of him. She wanted to know what he was doing, why her and no one else, what was he hoping to gain. He ignored her demands for answers.

The violence against her opponents escalated, with several wrestlers refusing to face her again because they didn’t want to get their asses handed to them by the Undertaker.

When the rumors began and the accusations that she was sleeping with him started flying, she’d had enough. She had stormed into his lockerroom and demanded that he stop whatever it was he was doing.

“Do you know what people are saying?” she had demanded of him as he sat on the bench in front of her, not even bothering to look up at her. “That I’m sleeping with you, that that’s why you’ve been turning up for my matches. This has to stop, ‘Taker. I don’t know what you’re hoping to gain from all of this but I’m getting sick of hearing all these bogus rumors, and I’m getting sick of all of my matches being ruined because of you.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even seem to hear her but she found out that he was in fact paying attention when she had made the mistake of mentioning Sara, saying she couldn’t be too happy about his behavior. He had suddenly gotten up, towering over her. He had backed her into the door, which she had apparently slammed shut during her dramatic entrance. He placed one massive arm on either side of her, completely boxing her in and then had told her in a cold voice to never mention his wife again. He then turned away from her and told her to get out. She’d had no choice but to comply, still no closer to getting him to leave her alone.

But although her lockerroom visit did nothing to stop him, it did change things. He would still lay waste to her opponents if they got in his way but he no longer focused on them. He focused on Jess instead and the violence against her escalated. Pulling her from the ring and sending her sprawling to the floor if she was lucky. Chokeslams and Last Rides if she wasn’t. And he seemed to like clotheslining her, turning her nearly inside out while doing so.

The rumors had also changed. Most were saying there had been an affaire but that she had ended it and ‘Taker was taking it badly. Others insisted there was never an affaire. She had rejected him and he was taking it badly. That at least everyone agreed on. Whatever had happened, ‘Taker was taking it **very** badly.

Jess tried to ignore the rumors. She didn’t need to know what everyone thought, she had enough trouble dealing with the truth. That ‘Taker was obsessed with her and it wasn’t going to end well for her. J.R. apparently agreed, saying ‘Jess Hardy is up a creek, and not a paddle in sight’. Thank you, J.R., that helps.

It was shortly before the Royal Rumble of 2002 when Jess finally managed to one-up the Undertaker, sort of. He grabbed her by the throat to chokeslam her and she kicked him in the balls. While he bent over, cupping said balls, she had dropkicked him twice, sending him from the ring with the second move.

Her victory was to be short-lived.

At the actual Royal Rumble, Jess – through the magic of random numbers – found herself in the ring with ‘Taker. Alone. He demolished her, as expected but didn’t eliminate her when he easily could have. Instead he seemed intent on inflicting as much pain as possible. The next entry – also through the magic of random numbers – was Matt but even with the two of them, or three once Lita got involved, they couldn’t quite eliminate the Phenom. He tossed them both out after beating them down and waited for the next entry. Maven. The rookie gave it his best shot but couldn’t budge the big man until Matt and Jess got involved again. One well-placed dropkick from Maven later and the Undertaker was out.

They should have left right then and there, should have run for the hills while they still could, at least give him time to cool off. As it was, they were still there when ‘Taker snapped out of his shock. He went straight for Jess, walking through Matt and Lita to get to her. The actual beating that followed was largely a blur for Jess, she remembered only bruising hands and pain, lots of it.

She had watched the footage later, after the hospital finally released her, which was only after she had managed to convince the doctors and nurses she was a wrestler, and not an abuse victim. The former was true anyway. The footage she had seen made her glad she couldn’t remember much of it. He had beaten her up the ramp and into the back – most likely leaving several imprints of her skull on the steel ramp, wrecking several tables by picking her up and throwing her through them and making her very well acquainted with the lobby popcorn machine – finally ending up in the parking lot. After slamming her into several cars, one of them her own rental car, he finally stopped, staring down at her for a long moment before he left, his hands, arms and chest covered in her blood.

The footage made her sick but she was rather proud to call Matt her brother. Though he was unable to stop ‘Taker, he must have tried at least a dozen times, receiving more than a few injuries himself and, while doctors were working on Jess at the hospital, he too had been seen to by a nurse, needing multiple stitches.

Things didn’t improve for Jess after this. If anything things got worse. Most nights it seemed the American Badass took her mere existence as a personal insult, an insult he did his best to remedy.

The tone of his assaults changed as well. There had always been a sexual undercurrent there anyway as he would hold her body up against his for just a little longer than necessary, or he would press himself flush up against her in the corner while choking her or yelling down at her. But after the Royal Rumble, it became more obvious. He would run a hand through her hair as he held her in place for a chokeslam or he would rub his cheek against hers, his beard scratching her skin and turning it red, and this right in the middle of the ring for everyone to see.

Then there were the things only she saw, things only she could feel. When he attacked her in the back after a match one night, he pressed himself up against her and she could feel something hard press into her stomach, her heart sinking when she realized what it was. She had choked out, ‘What do you want?’ and his grin had turned positively lecherous, confirming what she had already feared.

She was scared, there was no denying that. If he wanted to sexually assault her, he only needed to attack her when no one was around. There was no fighting him, not for her.

Jess wondered what Sara thought of her husband’s actions but she had no intention of ever trying to find out. If ‘Taker found out she went anywhere near his wife, he may well do the very thing his name suggested. Put her in the ground.

As it was, he was getting close to killing her anyway and Jess knew something had to give, she couldn’t last much longer. Not only was he ruining all of her matches, he was causing her body to deteriorate as well. Injuries weren’t healing, bruises weren’t fading and if something wasn’t done soon, she was heading for tragedy.

She couldn’t stop him herself. Lord knew she’d tried.

Matt couldn’t stop him, he too had tried and she wished he wouldn’t anymore. He was her brother, she didn’t want him to be hurt.

In the end, salvation came in a form she had never expected. The Big Show. The Big Show had no interest in saving the female half of the Hardy’s from anything, but his newly-found feud with the Undertaker was a godsend all the same.

She supposed it should bother her that he only turned his attention away from her because he was given no choice, but it didn’t. She was too relieved to care that she hadn’t been able to make him stop herself.

With any luck, by the time his issues with the Big Show were resolved, he’d no longer be interested in stalking – and assaulting – her. Matt was sceptical and Lita outright didn’t believe it but Jess was optimistic. He would be occupied for some time and his obsession would burn itself out.

She was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I know that at some point during this entire one-shot, Jess and Matt should have been fighting. My take on that is that their relationship being brother-sister instead of brother-brother, things would be different. Matt wouldn’t be suspicious of anything going on between Jess and Lita and that would – could – make all the difference. Besides, brothers don’t fight with their sisters nearly as much as they do with their brothers. I should know, I got three brothers.
> 
> As for the story itself, it feels a bit choppy to me but I didn’t want to keep hacking at it, or I’d wind up deleting it and I didn’t want that to happen.


	7. Randi Orton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, it’s been a while. Sorry about that. Life and all that.  
> This one takes place in 2003-2004, the time frame of Orton joining Evolution and eventually parting ways with them. My female Orton starts out as a larger than average but pretty normal woman, it is the events of this one-shot that begin the transition into the psychotic Viper.

When the thumb went down, she hadn’t been worried. Not one little bit. Why would she be? She was sitting on the shoulders of Dave Batista – Evolution’s Animal, her protector, her rock, the man who would have her back no matter what. Or so she had thought.

Miranda ‘Kayla’ Orton, most commonly known as Randi, had made her debut in November of 2002 and had immediately caught the attention of Hunter Hearst Helmsley. He had approached her her first day and had pitched an idea for a group, one that would include her and, of course, him. She had been flattered, over the moon in fact. The Game wanted her to be in a group with him, that had to be the ultimate compliment. She wasn’t so naïve that she didn’t know a lot of his interest had to do with her looks, but she didn’t mind that. She could use that as an in, and prove herself from there. True to his word, Triple H had formed his group and, although an injury had sidelined her for a bit, in January of 2003, Randi had joined the ranks of what was then dubbed Evolution.

The second she had joined Evolution, Triple H had latched onto her, literally. His habit of putting his hands where they didn’t belong made her very wary of spending any time alone with him, and he seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time in her personal space. He would insist on accompanying her to the majority of her matches. Whenever she was on the apron during the tag matches that he wasn’t a part of, he would touch her legs and stroke her calfs. During her singles matches, he would find reasons to touch her. Helping her back into the ring, reaching through the ropes to rub her back or run a hand through her hair. And before and after every match, his arm would unerringly find it’s way around her shoulders.

It wouldn’t have bothered her so much if she had been even slightly attracted to him, but she wasn’t. She supposed he might be called handsome in a rugged sort of way and Lord knew he had a good body on him but physical attractiveness wasn’t enough for Randi. There had to be more to a man than that and what little Hunter Hearst Helmsley had to offer on an ‘emotional’ level did not appeal to her at all.

Thankfully, there was Ric Flair. She had looked up to the man her whole life, and working with him had been a dream. Finding out that he was a nice guy – to her at least – had been a bonus. Flair hadn’t seemed to appreciate Triple H’s obsession with Randi very much and as such, she had an immediate ally in him. He never actually said anything to Triple H, but he would run interference, make it so they were hardly ever alone. Randi could only be grateful. The Cerebral Assassin had been starting to frighten her.

When Dave Batista joined Evolution, he and Randi immediately clicked and he too had seemed less than charmed by Triple H’s preoccupation with her. More than once, the mere presence of the Animal had caused Triple H to – grudgingly – back off.

Over time, Randi and Batista grew closer and before long, they were dating. Triple H had been livid, but what could he do? Flair had been happy for them. And Randi? Randi had been on cloud nine. She had her mentor and her man by her side, and she had felt sure that Triple H would find something or someone else to focus on. Some other woman, some other goal. He had lost his title to Goldberg at Unforgiven, surely he would focus on that first and foremost.

Armageddon in December of 2003 had been Evolution’s greatest moment. Flair and Batista became the tag team champions, Triple H regained his World title – with their help – and Randi had become the Intercontinental Champion after defeating Rob Van Dam.

Everything had been going great, until shortly after Armageddon. After regaining his World title, Triple H did not find a new woman to latch onto. He turned his attention back to Randi, except this time he did so behind Batista and Flair’s backs. It started with little comments that no one else heard, then little touches that no one else saw. He’d stand so close to her, she could feel his breath on her and it was all she could do not to cringe when he would brush past her.

She toyed with the idea of telling Batista and asking him to do something about but ultimately discarded it. While Triple H was definitely scaring her, she’d fought so hard to be seen as a serious competitor amongst men in the WWE, she didn’t want to now turn into a scared little woman, especially when he hadn’t actually done anything. She could deal with his comments, and even the touches could be ignored. If she didn’t respond, he would get bored eventually. She hoped.

After Armageddon, things didn’t continue to go so well for Evolution. Flair and Batista lost the tag titles to Booker T and RVD in February, Triple H lost his world title to Chris Benoit at WrestleMania 20 in March and, though she held the title for seven months, Randi lost her Intercontinental title to Edge in July.

Then things started going well again, at least for Randi. On an episode of Raw, she had won a battle royal to become the number-one contender for the world title for SummerSlam. She had been thrilled. A chance to win the world title had been more than she had dared dream of.

Triple H faced Chris Benoit for the title that same night. Randi’s heart dropped at the thought of facing the Cerebral Assassin, both because the man was lethal and because the thought of having him touch her for any prolonged period of time gave her heart palpitations. In the end, Triple H hadn’t won the title and, though she would never have admitted it to anyone, Randi was relieved.

At SummerSlam, Randi had faced Chris Benoit and in a match that she fought on her own, she had defeated the Rabid Wolverine for the gold. She remembered standing in the ring in ecstatic disbelief. Tears had run down her face as she had raised her arms to the crowd. She had done it, she was the new World Champion. The first female champion and the youngest World Champion in WWE history.

When she got backstage, she had flown into Batista’s arms, hugging him around the neck and babbling into his ear in excitement. He had been smiling at her, telling her he was so proud. She had kissed him, thanking him with a radiant smile. She had then hugged Flair, who had told her the same thing Batista had, that he was proud. Triple H had also congratulated her, pulling her into a hug that she didn’t even mind, she was **that** happy. When he had whispered into her ear that he too was proud, she had believed him. She had actually believed him.

The next night should have been an extension of her celebration. She had faced Chris Benoit in a rematch and she had again defeated him, solidifying her championship. She had the title, she had gotten it on her own, and she deserved it. When Triple H, Ric Flair and Batista had come out to congratulate her, she had flown into Batista’s arms as she had the night before and when he lifted her onto his shoulders, she had been beaming from ear to ear.

When the thumb went down, she hadn’t been worried. Not even when Triple H stopped grinning. Not even when Flair started frowning. No. The worry had come when she had felt Batista take a deep breath and let it out slowly. That was all it took for her stomach to drop and her heart to sink. Just that one deep breath. There was something in that inhale and exhale that told her the man whose shoulders she was sitting on was no longer **her** Animal.

And yet…

In the split second before he flung himself back, sending her crashing backfirst into the hard mat, Randi felt Batista tense. His hands tightened on her thighs, his shoulder muscles clenched. Guilt, or simple anticipation? She didn’t know but in her more fanciful moments after Evolution’s betrayal of her, she allowed herself to think that it was the former. That he hadn’t wanted to turn his back on her, that he had simply let the moment get to him, that maybe, just maybe, he was regretting his actions.

She knew better though. How could she not? After the beating she had taken was over, a beating Batista had very much participated in, she had lain on the mat, only semi-conscious and she had watched Triple H, Ric Flair and Batista stand over her. She had looked up, not at Triple H, whom she knew was gloating, not at Ric Flair, whom she hoped wasn’t, but at Batista. And what she saw in his eyes was not guilt, nor was it regret. It was satisfaction. He had chosen Evolution over her, and he’d been happy with that decision.

That was okay. She wasn’t bitter. She wasn’t angry. She was the World Champion, and she would be handing that belt over to Triple H over her dead body.

‘So let Batista be satisfied,’ she thought. ‘Let him be happy. I don’t need him.’

Those last four words resonated in her mind. ‘I don’t need him’. And as she lay in bed in the darkness and solitude of her hotelroom, cradling her world title to her chest, she could almost believe them.


	8. Shana Michaels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in 1996, but most of the story is about what came before.

This was it.

Wrestlemania XII. Her shot at the belt, her shot at true glory.

Lord knew she had gone through enough on her way to getting there. Hurdle after hurdle, obstacle after obstacle, but she had gotten through it all.

Being held back by mediocre Marty Jannetty for years, for starters. The man had been a decent wrestler, but no more than that and Shana had always known that she was the better of the two. Known it in her heart, though she’d never said anything until she had thrown him through a glass window on the Barber Shop set. And if that wasn’t sending a clear message, she didn’t know what was. The Rockers, indeed.

Then came being managed by Sensational Sherri. While Shana was absolutely sure of her ability, she had never gone solo before and the prospect had been daunting. So daunting that when the wily veteran manager had offered her services, she had accepted. And initially things had worked out great. Sherri helped her find her feet, her groove as it were, and had made herself more than useful at ringside.

Her alliance with Sherri – friendship would have been an overstatement, neither woman did friendship well – had fallen apart when Rick Martel had entered the picture.

Shana had known Martel for years and generally paid him no mind. The man was an incorrigible flirt, always had been, and while it had been annoying at times, she had never really been bothered by it. This changed when he inserted himself into her alliance with Sherri, changing the dynamic between them.

Where Shana ignored Martel, Sherri fell head over heels in love with the guy and nothing Shana did or said would sway her. Finally Sherri became convinced that Shana was trying to steal Martel from her, and after a screaming match in the ring – which had ended when Sherri slapped Shana and Shana planted Sherri face first into the mat – they parted ways. Sherri remained a thorn in her side for a while, reminding Shana of why she had been so lucky to have her on her side, until Shana had had enough and had – through some underhanded instigating – sicced Luna on her.

With Sherri out of the way, Shana had thought she could once again focus on more important matters, like defending her Intercontinental title. Then up popped Marty Jannetty. She hadn’t seen him in a year and a half and had honestly thought he’d quit wrestling altogether, so his reappearance was a surprise to say the least and the attack he launched on her had seen him make a concerted effort to put Shana through the mat in the middle of the ring. She supposed she ought to be grateful there hadn’t been any windows around.

The fiasco with Martel and her subsequent ‘issues’ with her former buddy, Jannetty, had made it clear to Shana that being on her own wasn’t a good idea. There were simply too many men who didn’t know what no meant, and entirely too many men who simply wanted to kick her face in.

She needed back-up and she’d found it. Oh, how she’d found it. Seven feet and three-hundred and thirty pounds of it.

Diesel had been a godsend. A big, strong man who didn’t want to get into her pants. At first she hadn’t known if she should be insulted or relieved, before she finally settled on relieved. She didn’t need the hassle of yet another man trying it on with her.

Her friendship – and she was sure that’s what it had been – with the man had been strong from the start, with the big man watching her back and Shana doing the same for him whenever she could. When things began to fall apart, Shana hadn’t been too worried, not at first. They were good friends, misunderstandings weren’t going to change that.

On the night of the Survivor Series in 1994, however, their misunderstandings did change things. She had kicked him in the face – by accident – and he hadn’t taken it well. The fact that it had been the third time hadn’t helped any, and she supposed she could acknowledge now that all that was pretty much her fault.

Diesel had stalked her into the backstage area where she’d quickly made her way to the parking lot, rashly forfeiting the tag team titles and telling Big Daddy Cool that he hadn’t seen the last of her. And she’d meant it, she’d been self-righteously furious and she was going to get her revenge on him.

She figured she’d begin by finding herself a new bodyguard but had had no idea where to find one. Most of the men in the WWF didn’t like her and those that did weren’t big enough to be bodyguards.

Then along came Psycho Sid. It had seemed like a really good idea to hire the big man as her new bodyguard. It was sure to piss Diesel off, and she once again had somebody to watch her back. What she hadn’t realized then was that there were fundamental differences between Diesel and Sid.

Diesel was a laid-back easy-going man by nature. Sid was not.

Diesel understood boundaries and knew what the word ‘no’ meant. Sid did not.

And whereas Diesel was in full control of his faculties, Sid most certainly was not. The mental imbalance that made Sid so dangerous to others, made him dangerous to Shana as well.

It got to the point where even Diesel spoke up about it, telling Shana to get away from the man aptly named Psycho while she could. She had laughed off Diesel’s concern. Where did he get off being worried about her after everything that had happened? 

It wasn’t long before Sid began to demand far more than she was willing to give, calling it his ‘due’. When she refused, he became insistent, and Shana had no idea what to do about it. She needed a bodyguard, she simply had too many enemies – had pissed off too many people – to go without. So she had stuck it out, holding Sid off with vague promises. And who knew she could be that stupid?

When Sid purposely cost her the WWF World Title at WrestleMania XI – and she knew for a fact that it was on purpose – she had been so furious that she had fired him on television the next day. Her fury hadn’t allowed her to see that that wasn’t the sort of thing that should be done face to face, not with a man like Sid. But Shana had never been good at doing the smart thing when her dander was up and after Sid cost her the title, you better believe her dander was up.

It hadn’t been pretty.

{Flashback}  
Shana fumed as she stood, looking up at the unstable giant that had been 'protecting' her for months.

“What the Hell were you doing last night?” she finally demanded of him.

“That’s what you get for telling me no,” Sid calmly answered.

Shana felt herself go cold, only vaguely hearing the crowd’s shouting. That’s what it had been about? Of course it had. And all at once, she felt so immeasurably stupid. Hadn’t she feared that this would happen? Hadn’t she told herself he wasn’t likely to let it go? Her fury, however, outranked her feelings of stupidity.

She ignored McMahon’s shocked exclamation at Sid’s words and ground out, “You had no right…”

“I had every right,” Sid cut her off, his voice a shout now. “And that wasn’t the only right I had.”

Suddenly the big man grinned, letting out a chilling chuckle. A chuckle that by all rights should have sent her fleeing from the ring, but didn’t.

“Did you think having me for a bodyguard would be for free, Shana? Did you think I would protect you and ask for nothing in return?”

“I asked you how much money you wanted…” Shana began.

“…and I told you I’d name my price later and I did. You chose to deny me. You had last night coming to you.”

Shana stared up at him for a long moment before she spoke, “You lecherous freak,” she spat out. She saw his eyes flash but took no heed and continued, “You filthy degenerate bastard. How dare you treat me like something you can just take whenever you feel like it?”

“You shut your mouth, Michaels,” Sid warned but Shana was too far gone now.

“And why did I hire you to start with?” she continued, her voice mocking now. “You were no good at protecting me even when you were trying to do your job. I would have been better off hiring Harvey Wip…”

Sid’s hand came up and clamped down on her left shoulder, hard. The rest of her words got stuck in her throat and her eyes widened at the more than obvious warning in the grip.

“Don’t push it,” the big man cautioned, his voice very soft now.

She should have backed off, should have stepped back and used her common sense. If she had, she might have walked out of there in one piece. As it was, her fury had her hitting his arm away from her, after his grip thankfully loosened, and warning him to never touch her again.

Turns out Sid wasn’t any better at heeding warnings than she was. In the next second, he clobbered her across the ring before yanking her off the mat and powerbombing her in the center of the ring. He then grabbed her off the mat again.

The crowd, which had been loud before, suddenly became louder still but Shana had no idea what was happening. She felt the mat shift and then suddenly Sid was gone, and she was down on the mat again. She lay there for a long moment before she felt a pair of hands turn her onto her back, hands she realized should have been far less gentle when she saw who they belonged to. She stared up at the handsome man now hovering over her, too stunned from the powerbomb to say or do anything.

“Are you okay?” he mouthed at her. Or maybe he didn’t mouth it, and her ears just weren’t working so well. The powerbomb did that sometimes. She managed a nod. It was a lie, of course. Her back hurt and her mind was in turmoil, she was far from okay.

{Flashback ends}

She had patched things up with Diesel after this, he had saved her from Sid, who probably would have powerbombed her half a dozen times, and she could admit that she’d made quite a few mistakes in their friendship. She had been too self-absorbed, too sure of her own importance. That had changed after that day and they had been able to get their friendship back, stronger than it had been before even.

Between WrestleMania’s, she’d been through good things and bad. The good; Winning the tag titles with Diesel. Winning the Intercontinental title for the third time. And the bad; Forfeiting her Intercontinental title to that little rat, Dean Douglas. The devastating concussion thanks to Owen Hart, and her subsequent collapse. Diesel turning his back on her just before WrestleMania – Gods, that still hurt to think about. But she had prevailed despite all of that. She had persevered and the moment had come.

And fuck everyone who told her she couldn’t do it.

Fuck anyone who thought she should stick to the ‘lesser’ titles. Fuck the doubters and the haters. And most of all, fuck Bret Hart and his smug little smile when he told her ‘Good luck, you’ll need it’. Yeah, alright, so she’d never actually beaten the man before. Didn’t mean squat.

This was her night, her chance to show the world she had what it took to be the best. The stagehand standing near her asked her if she was ready and she adjusted the harness around her with a scoff.

She was born ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always my story assumes that people know a great deal. You have to know quite a lot about this particular part of Shawn Michaels’ career to know what everything is about. You have to know all the particulars of the feuds he went through and that he went down a zipline from the rafters at WM 12. All in all, it can make for moments that aren’t quite clear to everybody but I’m gonna assume you all know this stuff regardless.


	9. The Undertaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so first of all, so sorry this one took so long to pop up. I’ve been crazy busy for months so I’ve been unable to write as much as I would have liked to.  
> I’m chosing a tricky one this time. The Undertaker. How exactly does one genderbend the Undertaker, of all people? Well, by making ‘her’ smaller for a start. And when you think about it, it’s okay for the Undertaker to be smaller. The character is supposed to be undead with mystical powers (a bit odd that those powers only pop up sporadically and not, for instance, when he’s getting his ass handed to him, but whatever). As such, the Undertaker’s strength (in kayfabe at least) does not rely on his size so much.  
> As a woman, I can’t see the Undertaker being near 7 feet tall and weighing over 300 pounds as he was billed. I would imagine her as much taller than most women and a lot of men, but no taller than 6’ 5”. As for the right weight, I’d say no less than 200 pounds but more than 240 would make her far too bulky. So those are the perimeters. Big but not overly so. Agile, strong and technically sound but no stand-out in any of it.  
> Now for the names. The Undertaker has a few nicknames. The Phenom and the Deadman are the most used. The Phenom can be used for a female Undertaker, no sweat, though I’m going to turn that into Lady Phenom. But the Deadman will not now, nor will it ever become the Deadwoman. No, no, no! I don’t think I need to explain why that is (please tell me I don’t). The Grim Reaper is a possibility if the story allows for it but it’s not likely that one will pop up very often.  
> The nature of the character means I don’t have a whole lot of emotion or passion to work with for much of the story but let’s see if there’s anything that can ‘stir’ Lady Phenom.  
> As per usual, I am going to assume that you know enough about the Undertaker’s career to know what most of this is about. Having said that, it doesn’t quite happen the same way. It takes place in 1997.

She watched with dispassionate eyes as the Heartbreak Worm made his way down the ramp, followed by his ever present lackeys, Helmsley and Chyna. She watched as he danced his way around the ring, strutting and posing for the fans.  
She almost smiled as she noticed that although he was smiling, he was also keeping a wary eye on her. He was an idiot, but he was no fool.  
The previous two months had obviously served to teach him that the Grim Reaper was nobody you wanted to mess with and, though it had not stopped him from getting on her last nerve, it had made him cautious enough to stay out of dodge for the most part, usually sending Helmsley to do his dirty work.  
Less than a week earlier she had watched him climb up the titantron to get away from her, leaving Helmsley and Chyna to receive his rightful beating. It hadn’t bothered her to see him get away. She would have her day and she would have it soon.  
Her problems with Shawn Michaels had started at that year’s SummerSlam when he had cost her the World title against Bret Hart by hitting her with a steel chair. She had never liked Shawn Michaels to start with. She found him too foolish, too arrogant. She had never really bothered with him because of this, chosing to ignore him for the most part. When he hit her with the chair, she would ignore him no more. Intentional or not, it didn’t matter. She would have her revenge.  
After a very unsatisfying draw at the Ground Zero pay-per-view in September, she had laid out a challenge to Michaels. A Hell in a Cell match at Badd Blood. He had accepted, but then she had known that he would. Too foolish, too arrogant.  
She watched him now as he stripped himself of his outer gear, still hamming it up for the fans. She wondered, and not for the first time, if the man knew just how stupid he looked when he did that. She brushed it off. It was time.  
The match went the way she had expected it to with only a few minor glitches. The first was when the cage was opened to get an injured referee out, allowing Michaels to escape the cage and climb it. She had climbed after him and they had battled it out on top of the cage. After she had sufficiently kicked his face in on top of the cage, she decided it was time they got back into the ring. It was time to finish it.  
She had forced him down the side of the cage, kicking him off when he was halfway down. She then hauled his carcass back into the ring and hit him with the tombstone piledriver.  
The fans cheered. She almost smiled. She had him. She finally had him. The title was now so close she could taste it.  
And then, as she dropped down to her knees for the pin, everything changed.  
First the lights went out. She quickly got back to her feet.  
Then music played and she watched, baffled and more than a little unsettled, as a large man she didn’t know made his way down the ramp, followed closely by a man she did know, very well in fact.  
Paul Bearer. She’d be lying if she said his betrayal didn’t hurt. It did. It probably always would.  
For years, the man had stood at her side. Through the good and the bad, he had supported her. But had he really? If he genuinely hated her as much as he seemed to, as he said he did, had he ever truly supported her? She didn’t know. She had gone through every last one of her memories of the man, had watched every one of her own matches, focusing solely on the man on the outside of the ring, and she still didn’t know.  
There was nothing to indicate he hated her. Quite the opposite. Throughout the years she had been in many feuds, and he had been a steadfast ally during all of them, more than once throwing himself in harm’s way to help her, despite his clear lack of fighting ability.  
When she had been so brutally beaten by Giant Gonzales at the Royal Rumble in 1993, he had been beside himself. When she had been attacked by half a dozen men and stuffed into a casket during her match against the gargantuan Yokozuna in 1994, he had put her up in his own house, caring for her during the weeks it took her to recover. Time and time again he had been there. Was it all an act? A charade? Was he just biding his time until he could betray her?  
To her, it had come out of nowhere, blindsiding her completely. She had been in a Boiler Room Brawl against Mankind at SummerSlam, the stipulation being that whoever made it to the ring and got hold of the urn held by Paul Bearer would win the match. She had been hesitant to accept the match. What if Mankind made it to the ring first, and hurt Bearer to get the urn? Bearer had talked her into accepting the match, assuring her that he would be fine. She felt so stupid looking back on it, but how was she supposed to know?  
She had, after a brutal fight, made it to the ring first. She had kneeled in front of Bearer, cupping her gloved hands to receive the urn and he had turned away from her.  
The idea of him turning on her had been so foreign to her, that she thought he must have been confused. Did he not realize that he was supposed to give her the urn? She had shuffled closer, grasping his coat with one hand and finally he had turned back to her. She had had just enough time to say his first name before he brought the urn down, crashing it into her skull, hurting far more than just her head.  
She was brought back to reality when the big man preceding Paul Bearer ripped the cage door clear off its hinges, and threw it to the side. She could see Michaels crawling into a corner like the cockroach he was, but had no time to pay him any mind. The big man was mowing his way through referees and was now climbing into the ring.  
She frowned as she looked at the monstrous man in front of her. She was confused for a moment. ‘Who…?’  
And then she saw his eyes. One of them was damaged, milky white and presumably useless. But the other one… Something in the heart people said she didn’t have stirred, telling her she knew this man, though she hadn’t seen him since he was but a boy.  
“Kane…” she breathed.  
It was impossible. Simply impossible. He had died in that fire, she knew he had. She’d been told repeatedly that he had. Bearer had been saying for months that he was bringing him in but she hadn’t believed him. How could she have? She had mourned the death of her baby brother for years, how could he now be here?  
Her face was slack as she slowly approached him and stood less than a foot away from him. He towered over her, impossibly tall. And she remembered the boy he had been, the boy who hated being small and thin. She had told him then, as his older and wiser sister, that he would not remain small and thin. That one day he would be taller than most anyone else. He hadn’t believed her but she had been right.  
He stood in front of her now, only that one eye linking him to the boy she had known, no discernible emotion on what little she could see of his face. This close up she could see the scars on his face, scars left by the inferno on that fateful night.  
Her hand came up of its own accord. “Oh, Kane,” she whispered, her face and voice pained.  
As her fingers brushed the red and black mask, emotion flared up on the big man’s face for the first time but she had no time to wonder what that emotion was as in the next second, his hand was around her throat and he chokeslammed her. She was faintly aware of being picked up off the mat again and then slammed down again, this time in her very own tombstone piledriver.  
Her vision went dark and when she regained consciousness, Michaels’ arm was retreating from where it had been draped over her and the bell was ringing.  
She had lost the match but it barely registered. Kane! She struggled to sit up and when she managed it, she looked into the aisle. She caught a glimpse of Michaels and his cronies scurrying away but her eyes were fixed to the retreating giant.  
“Kane,” she whispered again, her face crumpling as the pain hit her. Not the pain in her body, but the pain in her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is of course far more to the story and this does leave so many questions unanswered but as these are supposed to be one-shots, I couldn’t really address those questions.


End file.
